❤️🔥 hiiiii!! here to request a number 23 from prompt list 1: “fumbling with their hand as you tell a story.” i feel like you’d make it so soft and sweet <3
can u tell i was feeling so bad when i started writing this <3 nothing bout this prompt says angst but low nd behold, here's some hurt/comfort !! thank u for requesting alice m'dear :") this is like extra for u considering how sweet u are to me <33 1k+
It’s terribly late.
Really, the both of you should’ve wandered upstairs to bed at least an hour ago. There’s work tomorrow, early for you, less so for Steve, but it’s work all the same. He’ll grumble in the morning like he always does, tired and yawning all through his morning coffee.
Despite knowing this, Steve doesn’t even think of suggesting to turn in soon. Not when it’s one of these nights.
Sometimes, Steve finds it takes gentle coaxing to get you to unwind from your day. When you spend so much of the day tense, reining in reactions and biting your tongue, he knows it takes more time, more touch. It’s worth losing the sleep, staying up to talk it out. Worth it to know he’s giving you peace of mind. That he can protect you from even restless nights.
Most of the time, you won’t even realise you’re wound up — it’s impossible to sift through feelings when all you feel is down. It’s not until after Steve’s worked his magic that you can tell how long the day has really been. When the stress leaks out of your shoulders and you slump into him like a puppet with its strings cut.
It’s one of those nights tonight.
You’re up on the kitchen counter. How you ended up there is lost in the haze of your tired night. You faintly recall tumbling through the door, somehow after Steve even though you started work before him. Overtime is a bitch.
Between then and now, you’re certain you’ve managed to shovel some food into you but mainly, you’ve been watching Steve fuss about the kitchen. To you, there’s no better remedy that the sight of your lover.
He’d already made dinner by the time you’d gotten in the door, some simple pasta dish, cheesy and delicious. He’d insisted on doing the cleaning up as well, seeing your low-lidded eyes and curled in shoulders. The fatigue rolls off you in waves. It makes Steve’s heart ache in an awful way.
So, he had kissed you sweet and ushered you up onto the counter, his warm hands helping under your thighs when you’d groaned and barely made a move to jump up. He mumbled something soft into your hair, ‘my tired, sweet girl’, and sealed it in with a kiss.
It had been soothing just to watch him, sleeves rolled up while he scrubbed at the soapy dishes. Rinsing the plates and working instinctively, letting the story about his own day come out in quiet rumbles, just letting you listen. You hum from time from time to let him know you’re listening, even if you feel a bit hollow.
But now, dishes done, Steve’s onto his most important job — drawing out the burdens of the day from his you. The cups of tea he’s fixed for both of you are beside you on the counter, long forgotten. Steam stains the air, just a hint of peppermint.
Steve’s moved between your legs, hips leaning against the counter. He’s close enough that an inch forward and your head would rest against his collarbones. One hand sits on your knee, feather-light touches of his thumb against your skin. The other is held between yours, letting you fumble with it as you talk. Your hands work his fingers, playing with it idly as you talk.
“Yeah? And what’d she say?” He asks, voice low and head tilted to show he’s listening.
“Y’know, just the usual. It wasn’t what she said, just like,” You sigh wearily, drawing a line down the middle of Steve’s palm with your finger. Your eyes stay fixed on your motions, his hand in your own. Your voice is smaller than you intend as you try to recall the rude memory of your manager today. “The way she said it? I don’t know, does that even make sense?”
“It does,” Steve assures, his hand giving your knee a quick squeeze. When your head remains bowed, still fiddling with his hand, Steve flips it over, his hand covering both yours to still your fidgeting.
“Hey,” He says, soft. His head ducks low, trying to catch your eyes. It’s alarming to see a sheen in them, glossy in a way he knows means tears. Something tears in his heart, his concern doubling in an instant. “Sweetheart, woah, woah, hey.”
You let out a pathetic sniffle and that’s all it takes for Steve’s instincts to kick in, pulling his hand out of your grip to bundle you into his arms. You cave, crumbling into his chest and burying your face away — one of his hands cradles the back of your head, loving strokes along your scalp. The other provides consoling sweeps along the curve of your spine. It all really just makes you want to cry harder.
“S’okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into the side of your head. It’s warmth seeps into your skin, a silent comfort through your tears. "It's okay, honey."
It feels so utterly stupid to fall apart over something so little, just a bad day that’s crept under your skin, made its home in your nerves. It feels unbearable, trying to unwork it from your blood. You’re not sure how long you cry, just that Steve’s there the whole time.
When you finally pull back, shuddering breaths, Steve’s fingers make quick work to wipe your tears. Calloused fingertips that sweep across your under-eyes, tender and kind.
There’s a light kiss against your forehead, another against your damp cheek, gentle as ever. Steve doesn’t speak, his eyes just searching your face — though you can’t tell what he’s looking for. You’re too dead tired, exhausted by your own emotions, to give any semblance of a smile, even though you feel a bit better now.
“Bed now?” He suggests, voice soft and low. The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the lull of words, a reminder of how long ago you both should’ve been asleep. You nod, pitiful and small. Steve trails the both of you upstairs, sets out your pajamas while you brush your teeth, then waits in the bathroom doorway til you’re done.
It’s close to midnight when you both finally crawl into bed. Steve’s arms are around you the moment you’re beside him and you find immense comfort with your head against his chest. The echo of his heartbeat plays like a lullaby beneath your ear.
“Sorry for keepin’ you up.” You whisper in the dark.
Steve’s arms tighten around you. He shifts around for a moment, then his hand sweeps back the hair off your forehead, and he gives a soft kiss there. It lingers for a few seconds, and when he pulls back, he snuggles closer, resting his cheek atop of your head.
“M’sorry you had a bad day.” He counters. You know he means it completely.
“I love you,” the words slur a bit, feeling yourself already dropping off closer to sleep. It’s impossible not to when you’re this warm and this damn tired.
You’re asleep before you hear his response but it doesn’t matter, you heard it in every kiss, know it from every sweet gesture and moment of the evening. He loves you, and he takes care of you. The sleep is a peaceful one.
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Flaws pt2
Long time no see, everybody.
I know it's been forever since I posted, and while I will make an explanation post another time, for now I would like to post an addition to one of my old posts.
The post in question: Flaws
I wanted to add two slashers I started writing for after this post was made. I hope you all enjoy it!
Jesse Cromeans
Tone deaf. Having conversations has never been Jesse’s strong suit, and when he is limited to words on a screen, the way he comes across can be the opposite of what he intends. Other times, he could simply not see an issue in something that you find a problem in. If it's bothering you, he could get you something new, couldn't he? Oh, it's work? Quit your job. He can support you.
Snooty. Oh, he absolutely has an ego, and it can get to his head sometimes. He needs to be humbled sometimes.
If you're a private person who prefers not to be on camera, I'd suggest looking elsewhere for a partner.
Asa Emory
Where do we start?
His first major flaw is his emotional unavailability. You can't be in a relationship with Asa. He doesn't want one. The most you could be is casual sex partners. That is, of course, if you weren't kidnapped by him. Otherwise, you're part of his collection. A master and slave dynamic. That is your relationship.
In the hotel, you're treated exactly like a pet. Put away in your box when he's done with you, and left there until he comes back. The time you actually see him can be very little, or if you're unlucky, you've got his full attention all day. Let's not forget the ending though, where you end up displayed in his gallery. But do we really want to think about that?
Let's say you're not in the hotel, though. His emotional unavailability applies outside of relationships as well. You can't garner any sympathy from him, nor will he be thrilled for you if something goes well for you. At most, he's protective of you. In more of a, "don't touch my property" sort of way. At the very least, you won't have to deal with harassment
He's just mean. He wakes up with an attitude and carries it throughout the day. He knows he's better than you, and won't be shy to flaunt it. If you make a slip up, he will demean you for it. He gets off seeing you hang your head in shame while he scolds you.
At his core, he's a man with a need for control. In the bedroom, he's extremely dominant. While that isn't a problem, if you are the same way as him or don't enjoy that dynamic, you're not going to stick around long.
He is very shifty. Never tells you what he is doing, and will snap at you if you insist on an answer. Absolutely do not check the back of his van. Ignore the weird sounds you hear in the basement. It will be better for you that way.
If you're more vanilla and want a stable relationship built on love and trust, stay far away from this man. Hope he doesn't look your way.
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